


Fugitives

by aronnaxs



Category: Heavy Rain
Genre: M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-21 20:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aronnaxs/pseuds/aronnaxs
Summary: Ethan Mars is arrested and charged with being the Origami Killer. How much is Norman willing to stake on his innocence? [an alternate plot where Norman goes on the run with Ethan]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been looking for an excuse to do a Heavy Rain fanfic since I finished the game. It’s such a powerful game with such amazing characters. I wanted to give some love to my fave pairing, Norman/Ethan as there should be more for it. They deserve some happiness. 
> 
> They might get it in this fanfic.
> 
> Eventually.
> 
> So this follows the gameplay for a while but then diverges into an alternative plot ~

“Ethan, you’re gonna have to help me out here. Look, I’ll lay my cards on the table, I don’t think you’re guilty. But all the odds are stacked against you. You’re gonna have to start talking to get yourself outta this hole.”

Across from Norman, Ethan Mars didn’t even flinch. He kept his head down, staring at the handcuff binding him to the table. From what Norman could see, there was absolutely no emotion on his face. Just a weird, blank detachment, like he hadn’t quite processed what had happened to him. Norman sighed. Ten painful minutes in the interrogation room and he hadn’t even gotten a blink from him.

“Ethan, do you know where you are? Do you know the kinda shit you’ve found yourself in? You gotta give me something to work with. Otherwise we’re gonna be sat here forever. And the more time we waste, the more danger your son’s in. Do you understand that, Ethan? You understand you’re a suspect, and if you don’t open your mouth to say something, you’re just winding yourself and Shaun in more trouble.”

Nothing. Jesus Christ, this guy was either made of stone or - more likely - he was so screwed-up by this case that it had sucked the life out of him. There was a wall around him, and Norman knew he was going to have break it to reach him. He glanced at Blake, waiting impatiently in the corner, and pulled out the Origami Killer case file. He thrust it beneath Ethan’s downturned face, rifling through the pages. Eight photos of young boys. And their murders written up beside them. The clinical, official tone could not hide their grisly nature. 

“You see this, Ethan? Eight victims kidnapped and drowned in the goddamn rain. You recognise this ninth one, don’t you? Look at him. That’s your son, Shaun.” 

Ethan averted his eyes. Norman heard Blake utter an exasperated sigh. The older policeman’s irritation was needling at Norman just as much as Ethan’s silence. He rose to his feet. Palms pressed to the desk, he leant over Ethan. It was a slow-motion, half-hearted attempt at intimidation, and Norman realised instantly it hadn’t worked. He slammed down his hands. “For God’s sake, Ethan! What the hell’s the use of this? One more victim, that’s all you’ll get! Christ, say something! Otherwise your son’s gonna die!”

Jackpot. A brick in the wall suddenly came loose. Ethan looked up and fixed Norman with a desperate look. Norman had read him wrong. Despair simmered not very far behind his pale eyes. “Okay,” he said breathily. “Okay. I - kidnapped my son. But I - I can’t remember what happened. I can’t remember anything.”

Norman shook his head. Ethan was clutching at straws now. “Come on, Ethan. You’re gonna have to do better than that. How the hell am I supposed to believe it? If you know where Shaun is, tell us.”

“I don’t know. I can’t - I don’t know. That’s why you have to let me go.”

“Ethan -“

“I love my son. I love him more than anything. But the only way to save him is to let me go. Only I - only I can save him.”

“It’s in our hands now, Ethan.”

“No. No, you don’t understand. It has to be me. You have to let me go. Please.”

Norman paused. Enough for him to catch sight of Blake giving the “kill it” gesture to the officer manning the camera.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” he groaned. “I’ve had enough of this little fucking melodrama. Ethan, you’re gonna tell us where your son is. Either you’re gonna do it freely or I’m gonna pull it out of you. Now, answer me, and think very carefully about what you say. Where is Shaun?”

Blake grabbed the back of Ethan’s chair, leaning right over him. This time, Ethan winced away. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “If I knew, I would have already saved him.”

Blake sighed. “That’s the wrong answer, Ethan.”

He backhanded him sharply across the face. Ethan lurched, gasping. Norman looked away. “That didn’t jog your memory? No? How about this?”

He wrapped his hand around the back of Ethan’s neck and shoved him to the table. Face pressed down, windpipe crushed, his breath came raggedly. “I don’t know,” he wheezed. “Please. I don’t know.”

“I’ve dealt with a hundred other convenient amnesia cases, you son of a bitch. Sooner or later, they start singing. You want it to be sooner or later?”

Blake lifted his head and slammed it down again, then again. Ethan groaned and let out a gargled, “please.”

“You gonna beg me now? Is that what those kids did when you drowned them? Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

He kicked the chair from underneath him and Ethan toppled to the floor, jarring his wrist. Norman couldn’t take it anymore. “For the love of God, Blake, you can’t just beat a confession outta him!”

“You’re defending him now? He’s a fucking lowlife! A fucking kiddie-murdering lowlife!”

“We don’t know that. Beating him to a pulp isn’t gonna prove a goddamn thing!”

“You think you can do a better job? You had your chance, and he didn’t say anything. Your psychology degree doesn’t mean jack shit in here.” Blake returned to Ethan, driving a boot into his stomach so hard that he gagged. Ethan had looked awful when they had arrested him. Norman didn’t know how many other injuries were under his torn clothes already, but now he was breathing in agonised rasps, clawing at his side as Blake kicked it. Norman crossed the room before he could give it two thoughts. He grabbed Blake by the collar, dragged him away, slammed him against the wall. Blake’s eyes popped in anger.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You touch him one more time, and I’ll -“

“You’ll what?” Blake slapped Norman’s hands away and shoved him hard. “You wanna fucking try me? Hey? Come on, let’s go. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Blake was bracing for a fight, fists in front of him. Norman knew how much he had wanted to punch him since he had been assigned to this case. He got in there first, connecting with a harsh crunch. Blake stumbled back. “You bastard,” he hissed, grabbing his nose. “You’ll pay for that.”

In one swift movement - too sudden for Norman to do a thing about it, he had his gun in his hand. They weren’t meant to have weapons in here. But now there was one pointing right at his face. Norman froze, like the slightest shift would snap the trigger. Blake stared at him like a wild animal. Blood dripped down over his mouth. “I said: you wanna fucking try me? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t give in to the temptation and paint the walls with your brains.”

Norman felt his heart in his throat. “They’ll have your badge for this, Blake. You’re insane.”

“Insane, huh? I’m not the one with a goddamn drug problem.”

He waved the gun towards Norman’s jacket pocket where he knew the Tripto vials would be. Norman struggled for the words. Shock and shame combined into anger. “You’re outta line.”

“I know what I’m doing, Jayden. You better get the hell out of here. Otherwise my finger might just slip.”

Norman lingered. He should have known how serious Blake was. He came closer, barrel of the SIG Sauer threatening to bludgeon Norman’s neck. Like he was attached on strings to it, Norman stepped back. Feet away, Ethan was still slumped on the floor. He barely seemed aware of what was going on around him. There was no way Blake was going to get through to him. There was no way either of them was going to. 

Norman had to get to Captain Perry. Blake didn’t give a shit about Norman’s authority, but he had to listen to his superior. 

He threw up his hands and stormed from the interrogation room. The case file dropped to the floor, pages flying, as he slammed the door.

It was like Perry expected him to come barging into his office. He looked up at him like a child running uselessly to his parent. “Blake is trying to beat a confession out of Ethan Mars!” Norman shouted, not caring if the rest of the station heard too. “You have to do something about -“

“Norman.” Perry leant back calmly. “What’s more important right now? Saving Shaun Mars or sparing that lowlife a few bruises? Let Lieutenant Blake show him his place in the food chain. Omelettes and eggs.”

Blake could have done anything in there. Blake could have broken Ethan’s arms. Blake could have ruptured his organs. Blake could have given him concussion. And no one would care, because it was Lieutenant Blake. Fucking Lieutenant Blake with his ‘extensive experience’ that hadn’t prevented eight kids from being slaughtered. “Damn it, Ethan Mars is innocent!” Norman yelled before he could stop himself. And if he hadn’t believed it before he damn well did now. “We’ve got to get back to looking for Shaun, not -“

“You’re exhausted, Norman. This case has worn you out. Maybe you should take some time off to think.”

“Time off to -“ Norman staggered back as if Perry’s words had punched him in the gut. “We haven’t got time! You think Shaun Mars wants me to have some ‘time off to think’ while he’s fucking drowning?!”

“Agent Jayden. I suggest you leave.”

Nothing more. Perry watched him without so much as a flinch. Just like Ethan Mars. But no, Ethan had a soul and a heart inside of him, as torn as it might be. Perry had nothing. Not a single shred of compassion. Norman felt the accusations building in his throat. The nauseating sensation of corruption in this damn station was getting too much for him. He turned, marched out, slammed the door behind him. It felt like the whole force stared at him as he hurried back to his office. Let them, he thought.

His tiny, dust-choked room swarmed around him. The adrenaline of being held at gunpoint was starting to wear off. But he was still panting, angrier than he thought he had ever been in his entire life. Just rooms away, Blake was breaking every rule in the book and no one was batting an eyelid. This was not something a single man could stand against. This was a systemic, ugly fuck-up that ran far too deep. 

Norman tried to push himself away from the door, but his head was throbbing. His hands trembled at his sides. Christ, not now. He had to think. He had to prove Ethan’s innocence. He had to find little Shaun. He was drowning - drowning - drowning...

He fumbled for the vial in his jacket pocket. The blue sheen of the Triptocaine was so alluring and tempting. Norman knew he should fight it. He should stand up to it otherwise it was just going to get worse and worse and worse.

But, as the blackness started to close around him, he snapped the lid and gave in.


	2. Escape

As always, Norman found himself here. He had no idea why this was the environment which built itself around him, but it was constantly the same, like some bad dream. On the surface of it, it seemed normal - the sleek modernism of the bar; the soft yellow light; the clinking of the glasses. But the longer he stayed, and the deeper he looked, the more wrong it all looked. The walls at the far end were half-built and in the gaps were pockets of bleak darkness. That rich illumination was from gaudy slabs of gold which resembled disassembled pixels in a malfunctioning simulation. The sound of the glasses was the work of just one bartender. The rest of the bar was empty. It always was.

Inevitably, the bartender came over to Norman. Norman’s fingers slipped off the keys of the piano, jarring an incorrect note. He slumped forward and disturbed the sheet music. “What will it be, sir?” the man asked.

“How about the identity of the Origami Killer?”

The tender - who Norman had started referring to as Lloyd - gave a sympathetic smile. “Trouble with the case?”

“You could say that.” Norman pushed himself up and started the piano piece again. It was the only thing which held him together when he found himself here. C’mon, no wrong notes this time. “Blake thinks Ethan Mars is the culprit.”

“And you don’t?”

“No. It just - it doesn’t make sense. The killer is methodical, cold-blooded. Ethan doesn’t fit that psychological profile. He loves his son more than anything. I can’t see him murdering eight boys and then kidnapping Shaun. There’s no way.”

Lloyd, wiping down a glass which would never be clean, tilted his head at him. “You’re relying on your instincts, sir?”

“Yeah. But not just that. The evidence doesn’t match up. The geo-localisation would be way off if Ethan was the killer. Not that Blake gives a damn. Somewhere out there, he’s probably still trying to beat a confession outta him.”

“You tried to stop him?”

Norman huffed. “It’s like standing between a bull and a red flag. And Captain Perry is up in the crowd, cheering that bastard on.”

“Well, sir, maybe it’s best to review the evidence again.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” He didn’t mention how sore his eyes were after sifting through it for so long, or how mixed his mind felt, like that far wall slowly becoming unbuilt. But Lloyd must know already. He was in his head, wasn’t he? This bar wasn’t real. None of this fucking charade was. It was a messed-up projection, here to give Norman someone to talk to. A goddamn virtual shrink session. 

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face in the vain hope that all this might go away. How the hell had he let this get so far? 

“Sir, if you don’t mind, may I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Norman had given up on the piano now. Too many wrong notes, even when he hit the right keys. This part of the ARI was starting to fracture already. 

“How far are you willing to go to prove Ethan Mars’ innocence?” 

Damn, Lloyd, that’s a good one. “I’d stake my life on it,” he said without thinking. 

Lloyd accepted the answer without even a change of expression. He nodded in that studious way of his and carried on cleaning his glass. “Maybe you do know what to do then, sir. Review the evidence and prove your man is not guilty. Just...” He paused, glancing around as if someone might hear them. There was still no one else in the bar. “Try not to overindulge in - you-know-what.”

The warning didn’t even touch Norman. He had heard it from Lloyd too many times, and from himself too (or was that the same thing?). Either way, he wasn’t very good at listening. “I’m trying,” he said lamely. “But it gets more and more difficult. Every time.”

As if to prove his point, the bar began to melt around him. The piano was the first to go, fragmenting into little black glass shards. They carved a path across the floor, cracking it open and sucking the rest of the room into the gap. It was like shaking the inside of a kaleidoscope and suddenly realising that the pieces didn’t actually make any sense. It hurt Norman’s head. He closed his eyes behind the ARI glasses and lifted his hands. Only when they touched solid wood did he dare look again.

He was back at his desk. He knew that he was sitting in his office at the station, but the ARI constructed the surface of Mars around him. Mars. Christ, experimental reality software had a sick sense of humour.

Norman didn’t bother to change the preset environment. He had gotten used to the hot colours and the dust. In front of him, the planets were slowly rotating around the stark sky. Norman ignored them and opened up the virtual cube containing the evidence. Something new popped up. CCTV from the park the day Shaun Mars went missing. He circled it and watched the grainy images of a car creeping along the road. Seen heading South 16.02 and North-West 16.37, matching the times Ethan had said Shaun had disappeared. Orange writing started to appear alongside the footage. A blue 1983 Chevrolet Malibu, reported stolen 2005. It might be the Origami Killer’s car.

Norman swept it away and cycled through the rest of the clues he had already gone over extensively. The orchid that was found on the chest of every victim. The pollen trail leading to it. The blood on the most recent corpse’s leg at the railroad tracks. And, of course, the eponymous Origami figure. It summed up the modus operandi of the killer - calm, collected, able to twist and fold the case into whatever he wanted. Norman already felt like he had been bent about all over the place. If he was an Origami figure, he’d be a crumpled reject on the floor.

An unmarked, extra clue was flashing. The Citizen ID card of a Jackson Neville, the man suspecting of involvement in the theft of the Chevy. Norman pulled it up to examine it closer. Jackson - or Mad Jack, as the ARI flagged up - grimaced out from his photograph. He had been tangled in a string of crimes, and considered very dangerous. Who wasn’t in this damn case? Even the cops were. Norman flicked through the available info on Jack. It seemed he owned a junkyard and auto-body shop out on the city limits. If he remembered who he supplied the Chevy to, Norman would have a new lead.

And he would take anything right now. Anything but Ethan Mars.

He was done here. With some relief, Norman exited ARI. The hot vista of the red planet faded around him, back into the dull, dusty tones of his office. He took off his glasses and stashed them into his jacket pocket. He was glad to see his hands weren’t shaking, and there was no sick feeling in his throat. It was always a risk coming out of ARI. The thing was still an extremely new FBI experiment. Sometimes, Norman doubted that he should even have it. The Triptocaine that he constantly kept on him was a glaring red sign of that. It was meant to deal with the side-effects of the added reality software, but...

Well. He couldn’t dwell on that now.

He rose to his feet, lurched a little (damn it) and went for the door. He had Mad Jack to go pay a little visit to. But before that, there was something else. His mind was made up.

Out in the lobby, Perry was standing over Blake’s desk. They ignored Norman as he passed. “Has Ethan Mars confessed yet?” Norman overheard Perry ask. 

“Not yet. The guy lost consciousness,” Blake said, unable to keep the smugness from his voice. “But I’ll get more outta him later.”

“He’s tougher than he looks,” Perry commented. “You’ve done an excellent job so far, Lieutenant. I’m holding a press conference in a couple of hours. I’ll be sure to mention your name.”

Not mine, Norman thought. He didn’t care. He didn’t give a damn about getting his name out, or using any old suspect to wrap this case up just for the publicity of it. He was here to do it right, and fair. 

“How far are you willing go to prove Ethan Mars’ innocence?” Lloyd said in his head.

Norman opened the door to the office adjoining the interrogation room. Through the one-way mirror, he could see the warden standing over Ethan, who was still slumped on the floor, arm twisted up to link with the handcuff bar on the table. The camera looking through the glass was blinking red again. Before he could change his mind, he turned it off. Now, he noticed, his hands were shaking.

The warden gave him a sidelong glance as he went to the interrogation room next. Norman kept his eyes off Ethan. “Leave us alone,” he said firmly. 

The officer cleared his throat awkwardly. “Lieutenant Blake gave specific orders to watch the prisoner.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him. I just want a few words.”

He shifted a little, caught between the brash lieutenant and this young outsider. As if Norman needed any more signals that protocol was being broken and his authority wasn’t acknowledged here. He thought the cop might disobey him for a moment, but then, begrudgingly, he exited the room. Norman went straight for Ethan. 

“Christ, Ethan, are you alright?” He hooked his hands under Ethan’s arms, and slowly started to pull him up. Ethan groaned, halfway between out of it and conscious. He slumped against Norman and Norman tried to ignore how weak he felt beneath his sweater. He helped him back into the chair which had been thrown into the corner. “Shit. Oh, shit, Ethan.”

Blake had done a number on the poor man. His right eye was fused closed, an ugly bruise starting to form around it. Blood spilled from his nose and over a split lip. He was panting harshly now he was up. “That son of a bitch,” Norman heard himself hiss. 

“I’ve gotta save Shaun,” Ethan managed. Of course his first waking thoughts were about his son.

“I know.”

“I’m the only one who can save him. I’ve gotta get out of here.”

Norman swallowed. He saw his future suddenly playing out before him, like an ARI simulation creeping into reality. He would lose his badge for this. A ten-year stretch for aiding a suspect. His career, and life, summarily over. But Ethan was looking up at him with his one good eye, and he was desperate and injured far deeper than these flesh wounds, and Christ, Norman knew he was innocent. He had to be. 

Norman nodded, and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

The deal was sealed.

His heart was strangling him as he left Ethan. The warden lingered outside the door, and Norman put on a stern face for him. Now, it was just the rest of the station he had to convince. Great plan, Jayden. What the fuck are you thinking? What the fuck are you doing?

He had to keep his head. He pushed down his anxiety and faced the lobby. A small sliver of luck had been given to him. Blake and Perry were gone, and many of the desks had started to clear as some of the officers dispersed for their breaks. The keys, Norman thought. Got to find the keys for the handcuffs. The last time he had seen them, they’d been on Blake’s belt. He hoped they weren’t still there. He didn’t fancy facing Blake down in the canteen and doing some sleight-of-hand David Blaine shit to get them. 

He checked Blake’s desk as subtly as he could in the cramped space. He should have guessed that the keys would be there in the top drawer. What the hell was security in this station anyway? But, for once, their crappy adherence to protocol had benefited Norman. He slipped the ring into his pocket. No one had even blinked at him.

Next, a disguise. There had been a police jacket in the camera room. He went in, grabbed it, almost swore when he saw the warden had returned to Ethan’s side. Trying to keep his voice level again, he spoke into the microphone. “Lieutenant Blake’s looking for you. Have a breather, I’ll take over here.”

Way to be subtle, Norman, he thought. But after a beat, the cop gave him a ‘message understood’ signal and left. Better not keep Blake waiting. 

Ethan looked up blearily when he entered again. Without a word, Norman reached down and unlocked the handcuffs. As soon as he was free, Ethan wrenched his wrist away sharply. Bruises had started to form on his pale skin. There was no use hanging around. “Come on, up,” Norman said. “You need to get moving. Before I change my mind.”

He gripped Ethan’s arm and pulled him to his feet. He lurched unsteadily. “Here, put this on. Go straight to the exit. Don’t stop, don’t make eye contact, don’t speak... Just go.”

Ethan stared at him mutely for a moment, then pulled the police jacket over his head. It hung ridiculously on him. He looked like a kid in his father’s clothes. Shit. That was probably not the best comparison. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

Norman moved out the way, urging him towards the door. “Get outta here, Ethan.”

He could feel his heart drumming in his throat as Ethan reached for the handle. He knew Ethan should be the terrified one - about to break police custody and go on the run once again. But he was facing it with that same blank expression. Norman’s own adrenaline was about to soar through the rooftop. “I don’t know what to say,” Ethan murmured.

“Just save your son.”

Then he was gone. Norman fought with himself not to watch him leave. He stayed, braced against the interrogation table, stomach curling. The emptiness of the room suddenly pressed down on him, the loose handcuffs the symbol of what he had just done. He might as well strap them on his own wrists now. They were going to find out. They were going to uncover what a fuck-up he was. He had visions of him and Ethan going down together, the bars slamming shut behind them. It wouldn’t be assholes like Blake and Perry ruining his career. It would be himself.

He had to calm down. The coming hours would depend on how he acted. He slowly moved away from the table, glad when his knees didn’t buckle completely. Mad Jack. He had to get to Mad Jack. That could be the lead he was so desperately looking for.

The case went on. Norman picked himself up from the crumpled heap he was threatening to become, and followed Ethan out of the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you might notice that the escape plays out a *little* differently in this to in the game. I always wondered how the hell no one saw Ethan break out, or Norman help him. Anyway, thanks for the comments etc so far :) bonus points for the Shining reference in this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Feedback always appreciated :)


End file.
